Page 35 of Sizzling Desire

I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling hard, because I have no business chasing her. But damn. I’ve fought wildfires less dangerous than the thing sparking between us, and yet, I keep getting closer, keep daring the flames to burn me down.

A laugh breaks through my thoughts, sharp and familiar.

Hudson.

I glance over my shoulder, spotting him at a corner booth with Jax and a couple other guys from the station. He waves me over, and I take my time crossing the room, still feeling theweight of Grace’s absence in my chest like she stole the oxygen from the place when she left.

I drop into the seat across from him, resting my elbow on the table as he eyes me knowingly.

“You look like you got hit by a truck,” Hudson remarks, smirking. “Let me guess—Grace?”

I grunt, tipping my drink back again, because there’s no point in lying. “What gave it away?”

Hudson chuckles. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the way you keep looking at the door like you expect her to walk back in here just so you can argue with her some more.”

Jax snorts, shaking his head. “You two have some of the weirdest foreplay I’ve ever seen.”

“Not foreplay,” I snap, too fast.

Hudson just raises an eyebrow, looking entirely too amused. “No?”

I grit my teeth. “No.”

Jax leans back, stretching an arm over the booth. “You sure? Because of the way you talk to each other? That’s not normal, man. That’s the kind of heat that burns.”

Like I don’t fucking know that already.

I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders like I can physically shake the tension off. “Doesn’t matter. She hates me.”

Hudson grins. “And yet, she keeps coming back for more.”

I don’t have a response to that.

Because he’s not wrong.

Hudson and Jax are still smirking at me like they know something I don’t, which is fucking annoying, but I let it slide because I’m too wrapped up in my own bullshit.

I take another drink, slow this time, trying to drown out the way my skin still burns from being near Grace.

It should be easy. It should be simple. But nothing about her is either of those things.

The guys are talking about something—probably Hudson’swedding again—but my focus is on the glass in my hand, watching the condensation bead along the rim like it might give me answers to questions I don’t even want to ask.

Then Chance slides into the booth, dropping a thick file onto the table with a thud.

“Alright, Mitchell,” he says, yanking me out of my own damn head. “Enough daydreaming about whatever—or whoever—has you so worked up. We need to talk.”

I glance at the file, instantly shifting gears.

“Tell me you’ve got something,” I say, setting my drink down.

Chance exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Not much, but it’s something.” He flips the folder open, revealing grainy security cam stills and a timeline of fire reports. “Moe’s statement checked out. There was a man lurking near the Cedar Grove warehouse before the fire started. No clear shots of his face, but he fits the description—tall, dark jacket, cap pulled low.”

My jaw tightens. “And he stuck around to watch it burn.”

Chance nods. “Yeah. And that’s not all.” He pulls out another report, sliding it toward me. “Got this from an ATF contact. Two months ago, a fire broke out in a residential neighborhood up in Jacksonville. Same pattern. No forced entry. No clear ignition source. It burned hot, fast, and precise.”

I scan the page, my gut twisting. “And?”

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